Hiraeth
by Ersatz
Summary: The good news? It's got a smidgen of Rand in it. The bad? It's from Egwene's PoV. Come on, somebody has to like her. Reviews touch my inner smile.


**Author's Note** – One shot piece of froth, A/U and absolutely no plot whatsoever. Anyone who read _A Time to Dance_ may sense a pattern developing - I apologise unreservedly.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Wheel of Time or any of its characters, locations, motifs, mythologies, etc., etc. I once had a cat called Scratch, though. Can't sue me for that now, can you?

**Hiraeth** - A Cymric sentiment, untranslatable into English, which essentially means a longing – indefatigable, indefinable – for one's homeland.

* * *

_She left the Two Rivers behind soonest. And regrets it least._ – TfoH, Chapter 42: A Silver Arrow

**Hiraeth**

Egwene sighed. A butterfly fluttered by on autumn wings, a flash of gold and red. It tried to light on her nose but she shooed it with a well-placed huff and watched it pitter over sun-blushed flowers.

She sighed again. Her nest of snow-kissed peaks with scooped emerald vales, spring sunlight and soft puffs of cloud was _supposed_ to be peaceful. Calming. Maybe even a trifle drowsy. But dull?

A flit of her foot sent her spiralling into the cerulean heavens, a blink and she slumped into a glade of honey-blossoms. Wondrous. Inspiring. Predictable.

Already she had stifled yawns above the cities of glass in their havens of light. Moonglades and seascapes had reduced her to indifference. The flock of ivory lambs had almost made her bleat in despair.

Not that she didn't enjoy _tel'aran'rhiod_. It was just a little….

_lonely_...

…..**staid** on occasion.

She drifted towards a pool of clearest, crystal water. It threw back a young, petulant creature, all furrowed brows and dark, flashing eyes. Tiny braids flopped about her face and she forced them to slacken. Braids, indeed. She smoothed her now flowing locks and padded on. At least walking seemed a novelty after all that soaring and whirling about.

Soft skirts swished about her ankles. She paused to pluck at them, found practical Saldean hems spun from Domani silk. It actually looked rather prett….Light, she was _not_ Elayne, sighing like a lackwit over anything slashed, spun or drooling with embroidery. She thickened the silk into a good, solid woollen weave. Grey, naturally. Too much colour gave one a headache.

A single plait trailed over her left shoulder now. She left it there and changed her satin slippers into half-boots. An ensemble stout enough for the Two Rivers. Her eyes prickled. Curious. Probably a speck of thistle-dander.

_Dander?__ Here?_

She scrubbed her eyes frees of tears _(dander!)_, opened them – and cursed.

It had been some time since she found herself in this place. If she was being honest with herself - and she was honest enough to admit that a rare feat - she had been actively avoiding it.

Her oath still vibrated in the silence. More than silence – nothingness. Nothingness save for stars like countless frozen teardrops.

Except they weren't stars. She tried to fight it--

_him__? o Light!_

but the one who found her held her tight.

And, in truth, the fight was decidedly one-sided.

* * *

'al'Vere!' 

Now that rankled. She rounded, donning her best display of haughtiness. 'You should address me as—'

Wil al'Seen blinked at her. 'Well?'

She stared. He blinked again. His eyes were pretty, even when he was blinking. She had forgotten that.

'Well?' he repeated, dimple in his cheek deepening.

'Well, Egwene. I suppose.'

'Fine. Well, Egwene?' Those pretty eyes rolled. Well? Well, the flaming well? Or are you too high and mighty for water-fetching these days.'

'Oh!' Too late she saw the bucket at her feet. 'Yes. On my way.'

'Problem?'

Her throat tightened when she saw who had rounded the stables. Was it possible to choke on dander?

Wil unleashed his dimple. 'Nope. Miss Prim just got her smallclothes in a twist again.'

She bristled. Tam got there first. 'Keep a civil tongue, lad. Season of Goodwill, remember?'

'I'm as good a Wil as they come.' He paused to appreciate his wit, then chirped. 'Joyous Winternight, Egwene. Master al'Thor.' A pause. 'Rand.'

Plumage unruffled, Wil strutted off whistling a festive tune.

'Thank you—oh, let me….'

But Rand had already bent to grab the bucket.

'Rand had finished his chores.' Tam said in his quiet way. 'Besides, ladies should be readying themselves for the dance. Isn't that right, lad?'

Rand blushed but his lips were quirked in a smile. He ducked a nod and hurried off.

'Tidings, Egwene.' Tam's eyes twinkled. 'See you later, hm?'

'But I….' The men's long legs carried him ahead, despite her trotting. She stopped, pressed a hand to her breast and remembered who she was.

The Amyrlin Seat. Leader of the Little Tower. Sister of the Green Ajah.

_egwene__ al'vere?_

No! I am the Amyrlin - The Two Rivers _was_ _once_ my home. Light, it hardly even exists anymore!

And Rand….Rand is the Dragon Reborn.

_not__ here he isn't_

Ha! He would dangle me over the Pit of Doom if his precious plans demanded.

_you__ would dangle him first_

I would do no such thing. I am Egwene al'Vere.

_you__ mean the amyrlin seat_

Yes. No. Oh, shut up.

She breathed in the crisp air. It prickled in her lungs, emerged in a plume of mist.

No doubt about it. It was the Two Rivers, and one better than any she could have constructed.

How strange that he remembered it so well. Stranger still that he had brought her here. She stared at Rand's dwindling figure then the world he had created in his dreams.

It was perfect. A hare bobbed amongst the molehills, its coat the snowy white of winter pelt. The chatter in the pines was that of a robin, the scent in the air of spiced, baked apples.

And the town itself….snug in its vale as a pearl in an oyster, smoke eddying from chimneys, laughter and distant chatter on the crisp breeze. She pulled her cloak tighter and realised she was wearing her winter garb, that her hair was still plaited. That it was the first Winternight she had been allowed to wear it so.

Every detail was true.

And, true to detail, there was no dander in winter. And no excuse for the tears scorching her throat.

* * *

Stars sparkled in the velvet sky – real ones this time. Well, as real as they could be in the realm of dreams. 

_Sometimes I think the stars were brighter in Emonds Field_….

Not her words, but an echo of what she was thinking as she stood there, head tilted to the night sky.

…. _they were_….._I really think they were._

'Do stop dawdling, Egwene.'

Scowling, she plodded after her sister.

She would have walked faster if not for her stupid, stupid dress. Insult to injury that it was one of Aleen's cast-offs.

_stop__ worrying about dresses – you're not Elay_…..Elay, what?

'Do stop frowning, Egwene. You'll make a spinster of yourself.'

'Do stop frowning, Egwene,' she mimicked in a whisper. 'Do stop breathing, Egwene. Do stop having bloody fun, Egwene.'

'I heard that.'

She kicked an offending pebble and trudged on. Why did she have to go to this stupid dance anyway? Just because her hair was braided and Rand would be there….no, best not to think of him. He was nothing to do with it; nothing to do with her plaited-and-re-plaited-til-it-was-just-perfect hair or the rouge on her cheeks. Especially not the stupid, stupid, _stupid_ dress.

_you're__ acting like a child_

I _am_ a child.

'No, you are a woman.'

She blinked at Berowyn standing before her. Her slightly taller and noticeably plumper sister nabbed the opportunity to primp at Egwene's bodice.

'Now stop chattering to thin air and hurry up.'

By the time they arrived, The Green was humming with music and chatter and pent-up revelry.

Egwene saw Cenn badgering her father again, probably complaining about the 'ruckus' like every other year. The old goat never baulked at taking advantage of the free ale, though.

The Coplin and Congar families, so enmeshed that decent folk could no longer tell which was which, stood straggled around the Winespring Inn, glaring at the other villagers. There would be brawls and blows amongst the two clans later, a tradition almost as old as Winternight itself.

And there were the Aybaras, unmistakable as one of the biggest broods in the village. The youngest children were tearing pell-mell around the grown-ups legs while an older boy with broad shoulders and a shock of curls tried, and failed, to herd them with the promise of treacled-apples. Perrin was quiet, always ready with a smile but shy when cornered – for that's what it felt like when you managed to get him alone.

Like all the boys, except Rand (she even _thought_ his name quickly – that way it didn't really count that as thinking of him at all), Perrin had brown eyes. She liked Perrin. He had kissed her once when she was small, to stop her crying when she fell over an oak-stump. Well, he had kissed her grazed knee. And sympathy kisses didn't count – Sylvie Coplin said so.

_what__ are you doing? why are you even thinking these things? what--?_

She rubbed her brow, hoping her headache wouldn't get any worse. The musicians had struck up already, a popular tune called _Home to Hearth_.

A knot of dancers formed in the centre of The Green, toes tapping to help with the timing. It was a tricky one, as the first few turns tended to be. Master al'Thor had said the dances got easier so folk wouldn't get tired and tangled up in their own feet. Her father's explanation had been a boomed; 'The longer the night, the drier the kegs, my lass!'. Not that her father was complaining; the Winespring had plenty of kegs to empty.

_you're__ rambling_….

'There's Marisa. Go along now.'

Egwene nodded and tried not to shiver. Gooseflesh rippled her arms as she left Berowyn for her friend, a pretty girl with amber freckles and a tiny waist nipped even tinier by her red dress.

'Hullo, Egwene,' piped a scrawny Coplin girl. 'You're looking….practical.'

A smatter of giggles greeted that. Egwene hoisted her chin and ran an imperious look over the circle. 'Not all of us need to spill our bosoms to look pretty.'

Marisa hooked an arm in hers and sniffed. 'And some of us have bosoms to speak of in the first place.'

They were both giggling as they headed from the cluster of scandalised girls, still were when they found the stall selling their favourite fancy; breaded honey-comb.

'Mmph,' Marisa wuffled around a mouthful of the treat. 'There he is.'

'Who?' she demanded, automatically seeking red hair in the throng.

'_Him_.' Her friend swallowed the honey-comb and sighed yellow crumbs. 'You think he's handsome too, don't you?'

Egwene watched the slender boy spear through the crowd. 'I suppose so.'

Handsome? When she thought of Mat she saw messy dark hair and eyes that twinkled as though seeing a joke that escaped everyone else. He was thin, and almost as tall as Ran….as one or two men in the village, having seemingly shot up quickly and surprisingly as a daffodil in spring. Most thought him the village nuisance but some of the younger girls turned a warm eye on him now. Mat didn't seem to notice or care. What he did care for was mischief. Judging from his crooked grin, that pastime was foremost on his mind tonight.

She watched him jounce into Can Buie, almost as though by accident, then hark loud apologies and flee – in their direction.

'Watch,' he ordered, face tight with glee as he ducked behind them.

There was a loud _pop!_ followed by an outraged gabble, like that of a startled goose.

Cenn was somehow on his scrawny rump. Worse still, he was somehow covered in what looked like blood.

'What did you do?' she demanded, rounding on the boy.

His grin, delighted now, infuriated her all the more. 'Some white powder, a flask, a dash of water, a quick shake and—' he snapped his fingers wide and made a quiet '_boom_' sound. 'It's all in the timing,' he declared, looking like Scratch after he'd cadged a dish of cream. 'And the rowan berries, of course. Did you know Mistress Luhhan makes pies from that stuff? The powder, not the rowan berries. Da says they're poisono—'

'Oh, shut up!'

Old Cenn - all sticky with salts and ruby berries - was being hoisted to his feet by Tam and Alsbet; the latter was scanning the crowd like a sparrowhawk.

'And I'm the bloody sparrow.'

She gaped at Mat but he was already tearing through the crowd.

Marisa was hugging herself, cheeks a-glow. 'Did you see that? He smiled at me.'

'He smiles at everyone,' she muttered.

How did he….?

_how__ indeed. and how are you still here?_

Moiraine. Lan. The names crashed into her like blows.

Trollocs

_don't__ exist_

Draghkars

_stories__. children's stories. no such thing._

It all began here

_no__! i never left_

Winternight

_i__ want to come home_

'Egwene? Are you alrigh…?'

She fled, pelted past the still howling Cenn, sped through the village with hems whipped to knees, didn't stop until she reached the old brook.

Chest heaving, she slumped onto an oak-stump, recognised it as the one that had tripped her as a child.

'Egwene?'

She almost moaned aloud. The voice was soft and tentative. It was how she remembered.

'Are you—?'

'Enough.' She tottered afoot and faced him in the moon-dappled glade. 'Rand. Let it go.'

His face creased. It looked sweet, puzzled and impossibly young. 'Let what go?' Grey eyes narrowed. 'Egwene, should I fetch someone?'

'Please.'

'Egwene, I—'

'Wake up!'

An owl burst from the trees, pounding the air in fright.

Rand's eyes were very wide. A rustle sounded and Perrin stepped into the dell, his gaze flitting between her and the taller boy.

She threw her hands up at that. 'Marvellous. Anyone else want to join our little get-together?'

'Well, actually,' came a soft drawl from behind.

'Perrin,' she snapped. 'Get out. Matrim, you too.'

The stocky boy made to leave but she sensed Mat behind her still.

Rand was scratching his brow, almost comical in his confusion. 'Have you been eating rowan berries?'

'Wake up.'

''Cause I can fetch Nynaeve, if you like.'

She clutched her head and laughed weakly. 'Rand, we're in _tel'aran'rhiod_. Somehow, and please do not ask me how, you've brought me here. I need you to wake up.'

His reaction was too shocked, too open, to be anything but genuine. Perrin was staring at her, the moonlight catching in his dark eyes. They looked wrong to her now. Of course….'You,' she hissed. 'You pulled me here.'

'Egwene,' he began in his soft, deliberate way. 'I don't know about this tel'a….I don't know about whatever it was you said. But maybe the Wisdom does, or the Women's Circle.'

She was all but yanking on her braid now. Perrin slouched from the clearing, presumably in search of someone to come haul her away. She dropped back onto the tree-stump and toed the faded skeletons of last year's leaves.

_Light,_ _i'm__ going_….

'Crazy?' A soft chuckle. 'Don't worry, 'Wen. It's nearly dawn here and I think the brandy's starting to wear off.' A pause. 'Egwene?'

_'Wen_. The dread appellation of her childhood. Only one person had ever called her that. 'How?'

'How the bloody Light should I know? You're the flaming Amyrlin. And the one stomping around my bloody dream. Lucky you weren't in here last night.'

'Last night?'

His cough was decidedly guilty. 'Never mind.'

'What's going on?' Rand's face was stamped with hurt now.

A sigh and a whispered 'Go ahead,' was Mat's answer to her strange, silent thoughts.

The walk to him was hard, painful almost. The kiss wasn't. She glimpsed his amber lashes tremble on his cheek, the moonlight make marble of his face.

_if__ there was never this night_…and the thought faded as sweetly and gently as their embrace.

His eyes fluttered slowly, as though to prolong the moment. They were blue now, she realised. Rand offered a tremulous smile. 'I'll be waiting for you.' He broke into a run as he left the clearing, his fine, young body unbowed.

'So,' she murmured. 'What now?'

'I suppose you could pinch me.'

'Punch you, more like.'

'That would be better than watching you pair kiss. If I had known this would turn into a bloody nightmare….'

'You told me to 'go ahead'.'

'Because you're a sop for romance. Besides, you were always meant to be his first kiss.'

'And I his, I suppose?'

He didn't answer that.

She turned then, and was glad she did; the sight of a blushing Mat Cauthon wasn't one to be missed.

'Truly?'

'Don't look so bloody smug about it.'

'What about Marisa?'

'A freckled sunbeam.'

'Jillie Lewin?'

'Sweeter than honeycakes.'

'Malori?'

He sighed. 'Words fail me.'

'Why, then?'

She didn't realise she had stepped closer. That he had met her half-way.

His eyes were very dark, very _deep_. 'I've very low standards.'

'You're crazy.'

'This is crazier.'

Her lips grazed his cheek. It felt wan beneath her lips, somehow _not there_. She sighed. 'Dawn?'

A nod against her shoulder before he pulled back. ''Wen.' His voice was scarcely a whisper now. 'Take care.'

The trees were fading. He winked and she realised that Wil never had the prettiest eyes after all. Then the stars were dwindling to specks, swallowed by the black. No leaves beneath her feet now. No music throbbing in the dark.

Alone, Egwene floated in that void of nothing and waited for the dawn to bring her home.


End file.
